Arrow Lake studying about that good old way

Maegi was used to newcomers fixating on her face, her foot. This was the first time she found herself staring at an injury—this one the absence of a foreleg, leading to a gait even more unsteady than hers. She gathered her grace and good manners and gave the woman a nod, glancing at her children in the hopes that they weren't openly, rudely staring, either.

My name is Maegi. I. . . Should she say it? Might as well; her scent gave her away, anyway. I'm from Blackfeather Woods. These are two of my children—but one is missing. My daughter's twin, Sobek, Maegi added, gently nosing at Sakhmet's cheek in illustration.

She returned her gaze to the sentry, her eyes full of hope just barely kept in check; if she let it go, if she let herself dare to dream he was here. . .she'd be crushed, and Maegi knew it. Have you seen him? Has anyone here seen him? 

His scent isn't around. He hasn't come here. But that was the logical part of her brain, and for now, she stifled it. Just in case.